


A Splendid Holiday

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Island Fic, shameless shameless shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: What if James and Elizabeth were marooned on the island in Curse of the Black Pearl? Now complete!





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowbryneich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbryneich/gifts).



> A/N: For my dear snowbryneich, who wanted the Tumblr sharing a bed prompt “We’re just sleeping in the same bed, not together.” 
> 
> Also, I’m not really sure about the exact circumstances that got James and Elizabeth together on the island. I’m choosing to remain vague about it [read lazy]. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this shameless little fic. ;) I’m thinking this will be three-ish chapters? We know how that goes…

# I.

 

 

James Norrington did not know how it was possible for a man to simultaneously possess the best and worst of luck, but here he was.

Here he was, the Scourge of Piracy, marooned on a tiny spit of an island in the middle of the Caribbean by a lot of mangy rotten-toothed buccaneers.

Hector Barbossa’s little joke for the high and mighty Commodore.

Marooned on an island with one pistol, one shot, and the one woman he loved most in this world.

She did not know that, of course, and by the way she was looking at him he wasn’t about to tell her now.

Funny, that somehow a proposal of marriage had not _quite_ been the thing to convince her.

She was annoyed with him. Well, _beyond_ annoyed, he supposed. James had failed to negotiate with the scallywags for the safety of the blacksmith William Turner, and thus in her eyes he had failed.

Never mind the fact that he had maneuvered with the sly captain to keep Elizabeth with him, rather than as a prize bound for the slave markets of Tangier, where beautiful white women were worth their literal weight in gold. He had somehow saved her from one grisly fate, only to doom her to another, it seemed.

It was far too indelicate a subject to broach with her, and so he would endure her wrath, her glares, her razor-sharp tongue, and that pert little nose turned up in the most infuriating fashion.

Infuriating, yet somehow also adorable. Another conundrum he could not understand, except for the fact that he loved her _beyond_ his own comprehension.

James sighed, resisting the urge to massage his temples against the threat of a headache. There was so much he wanted to say to her—even if he could hardly look at her now, dressed in her underthings, and what an enticing sight she was—so instead he opted for necessity. “We shall want shelter, and a fire. If you would scour the island for some wood, and coconuts for supper, I shall set upon building you a roof.”

Wordlessly she looked to the crystalline blue sky above, her contempt of his idea written clearly upon her fine features. _Shelter from what?_ The words rang soundlessly between them, and James sighed. He knew they would see rain soon, if for nothing but the feeling of the wind, and the ache of an old sword wound left behind from an altercation with a Spanish man-of-war. “Trust me.” He offered a weak smile that lasted precisely two seconds before it melted away under her glare.

He turned to his task, unable to bear the burning contempt in her gaze.

As the sun rose and lowered in the sky they managed to accomplish quite a lot. Elizabeth made a substantial pile of driftwood and old palm fronds to use as fuel, as well as a nice pile of coconuts for their supper. James managed to piece together a surprisingly sturdy thatch roof, the floor lined with palm fronds as some barrier between a body and the sand.

It really did get into _everything,_ if given half the chance.

They would use the roof to collect precious water in the empty coconut husks, when the rains came.

James built them a small fire as the sun set, using the flint from his pistol and a piece of coral to strike against tinder from the base of the palm fronds. The colors that stained the sky made a painting of unimaginable beauty—he never could properly describe the natural wonder of the Caribbean to those who had never seen it for themselves.

And then, the woman beside him did not hurt the view either, if he was entirely honest.

They supped on coconuts and sat in uncomfortable silence, Elizabeth’s accusations hanging heavy as the sword of Damocles overhead. He watched out the corner of his eye as she peeled fibers from palm fronds and began to weave a basket. “For the rain, when it comes,” she answered his silent question, now sounding more sullen than infuriated.

It was small progress, but James would take what he could. He gave what was apparently the most intelligent answer he could think of: “Oh.”

A long silence ensued, which was eventually broken by Elizabeth again. “Was there really nothing you could do?” she asked quietly, and immediately James knew she spoke of the blacksmith.

“Barbossa would not be swayed,” he assured her, and it wasn’t a lie. “They needed the boy for something.”

“To lift the curse,” said Elizabeth, as though some piece of this infuriating puzzle had somehow fallen into place for her.

James did not understand any of it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Perhaps.” Somehow after this shaky truce he felt uncharacteristically bold, and he dared ask the question that burned in his heart. “Do you love him so much?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his question, those pillow-like lips pursing in thought. James felt his heart falling into the pit of his stomach with every second that ticked by, until finally she answered, “He is my oldest friend, James. Will is the only brother I’ve ever known.”

It dawned on him then that perhaps her fondness of the blacksmith was something other than _romantic_ love. She’d been an only child, and had been allowed to play with young Turner until she was deemed too old and the prospect too improper. And the boy considered her his savior, even though if hairs were truly split, it had be _himself_ who had given the order to have the boy brought aboard _the Dauntless_ that fateful day.

“I see.” He searched for something else meaningful to say, when all he felt was relief. It seemed silly for a man such as him to be envious of a lowly blacksmith, but when it seemed the boy possessed her heart—the Commodore could not help himself. “You may take some heart in that they seemed to need him, Elizabeth. They will keep him alive.”

For how long, however, was anyone’s guess. The boy’s sense of self-preservation was not the best.

Sheepishly James looked to his feet, which were bare and toes dug in the sand. The sensation was pleasant and surprisingly rarely enjoyed for a man who had called Jamaica his home, or at least his home base, for many years now.

Elizabeth seemed to take some mercy on him then, and by the sudden light in her eyes she experienced a revelation of her own. She pursed her lips once more, the way she did when she was mired deep in thought. James wanted to kiss her in that moment—but his courage was not up to _that_ task.

“I’m still thinking about it, you know,” she said. “Your proposal. The past few days have been exceptionally _unusual_ and I haven’t had much time to reflect.”

James felt his cheeks _burning_ then. Did she think he could possibly expect an answer _now_? That he would pressure her, _here,_ of all places? “Of course,” he quickly answered. “Take all the time you need, Elizabeth. It is perhaps the most important decision you will ever make in your life.” A small laugh escaped him, though it was not exactly a happy sound. “At least, it should be.”

He suddenly could not _stand_ to be sitting in that moment, and James leapt to his feet so quickly Elizabeth started. “I think I shall take the air,” he declared, which was perhaps a stupid thing to say as there was nothing _but_ air to be had on this little island, but he strode off down the beach before anything more could be given voice.

James circumvented the entire island, which was not a _terribly_ long walk, truth be told. But by the time he returned to their camp Elizabeth had retreated to lay down beneath the roof he’d built for her. He sat down in the sand, thinking to sleep by the fire.

A little time passed before Elizabeth called softly, “James?”

“My lady?” He sounded far more tired than his thirty odd years warranted.

“Aren’t you going to come lay down?”

James swallowed, _hard,_ and imagined it was _impossible_ that she couldn’t have heard it.

“I am content out here,” he assured her. “The shelter is for you.” Perhaps it was not the most impressive roof he hoped to ever put over her head, but circumstances being, it would do.

“But it’s going to rain. You said so.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to get wet.”

“Well…”

“Well, don’t be _silly_. Come here.”

An unbidden wave of heat washed through James, from the top of his head all the way to the tips of his toes. “Elizabeth…you know how improper that would be.”

She laughed a little then, which was infuriating as it was endearing. “Does it really matter? If we survive this I’ll have to marry you anyway, after being alone on an island with you for days on end.”

That was most likely true, and yet it did not feel like a victory to James. “Perhaps, though that is not the way I would have liked to win you.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I know.” The next silence stretched on long enough that James thought— _hoped_ —that Elizabeth had fallen asleep. But eventually she piped, “You’re being ridiculous, you know. We’re just sleeping in the same bed, not _together._ ”

But James could not stop his heart from thundering in his chest but at the mere _thought_ of laying down next to Elizabeth. “The theory is sound, though in practice…”

“Am I such a _dire_ threat to your virtue, James Norrington?” Now she _was_ teasing him. He could hear it in her voice, and it did not help the arousal that stewed in his veins one jot.

“No, but I may be to yours,” he tried to assure her. Well, she didn’t have to _laugh_ about it, but that was exactly her response. “Why is that so funny?” he demanded, suddenly quite _annoyed_ that he was even having this argument with her. Why couldn’t she just be an inconsiderate lady like all the rest, and let him lie cold and alone in the itchy grainy sandy bed he’d made for himself, like the gentleman he was supposed to be?

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, still giggling. “It’s just…I know you would _never_ hurt me, James. That’s all.”

 _That_ did not help his self-control _one bit,_ and he wrestled with the urge to scuttle into bed with her immediately. “Of course I wouldn’t hurt you,” he huffed. “That’s _not_ what I am talking about.”

How ridiculous were the rules of propriety, that he could not bring himself to say _exactly_ what he meant.

“Then what _are_ you talking about?”

He could not tell if she made sport of him now, or truly did not understand. Desire and annoyance pent up within him like burning powder within a _granado_ , and he feared he might burst. He blurted with all the control of a young boy caught up in his first infatuation, “I _love_ you, Elizabeth.”

There.

There it was. _Congratulations, you blathering idiot. Now she’s really going to laugh at you._

The moments of silence that ensued felt like _hours,_ and James felt like somehow he was drowning.

It was Elizabeth’s turn to say something scathingly witty. “Oh.”

James felt his heart trying to beat through his sternum, and he pressed his hand over his chest in an attempt to calm it.

Needless to say, it didn’t work.

“I didn’t realize. I thought it was…well. My father’s position. My dowry. And I suppose some people think I am not _too_ hard to look at.”

In other words, she entertained every single reason _except_ the right one.

“I suppose I am to blame for that,” he apologized. “Perhaps that fact would have been a better point to lead with during my proposal?”

She laughed a little, and to his wonder there was no malice in it. “It couldn’t have hurt.”

Something relaxed inside James; some muscle that had been clenched since he’d returned from a long tour and found Elizabeth Swann had transformed from a little all-knees-and-elbows imp into a stunningly beautiful woman, several years ago. She did not seem to be repulsed by his admission, and he realized that he’d always feared that she would be.

“I apologize for making such a botch of it. I admit I was exceedingly nervous at the time.”

“Nervous? The Scourge of Piracy, nervous about _me_?”

James chuckled a little, mostly at himself. “Well, you are rather frightening, Miss Swann.” He could not bring himself to tell her the truth. That he had never wanted anything in the world as much as he wanted her. Worse yet, he’d been so _certain_ she would say no.

She laughed, bless her, and the sound was like the ringing of bells. Yet despite this agreeable change in the weather between them, James was not prepared for the words that left her lips next.

“Come here.”

Her words were so soft that at first he though he imagined them. But soon she called, “James?” and he knew that she had invited him to her _bed_.

Clearly, he was doomed.

Very slowly he stood from his place by the coals, his feet moving of their own accord, for _he_ surely didn’t give the order. She shifted a little on her palette of palms, making room for him, and he knew his fate was sealed. He ducked his considerable height under the thatch roof, and very carefully took his place beside her, not touching, as much distance between them as was physically possible.

He’d not accounted for his own larger frame in this shelter, and his feet hung off the edge of the palms to rest in the sand.

Somehow it seemed the only thing he could make out in the shadows were Elizabeth’s _eyes,_ and those large dark orbs shone bright as moons as she regarded him across from her. “I’m sorry for being difficult,” she whispered, reaching out to the no man’s land between them, resting her hand upon an imaginary line. “You saved my life. I know what would have happened to me, had the pirates kept me. I’m not _that_ ignorant of the world.”

“No apologies are necessary, my lady.”

“I think I’m happy to be here on this island with you.”

For a moment James closed his eyes, savoring those words like a fine brandy. It had nearly the same heady effect on his senses, rendering his insides somehow both warm and a little numb.

“I will do my best to take care of you here, Elizabeth.”

“I know. I’m not afraid, because I have you.”

Very slowly, James dared to reach out, resting just his fingers upon her outstretched hand between them. Just that simple touch sent a thrill of excitement galloping through his veins. But she soon shifted to lace her fingers with his, and she had him firmly in her grasp. With their fingers intertwined they fell into a surprisingly peaceful sleep, for two people looking a slow death at the hands of the elements right in the face.

 

**XXX**

 

Late in the night, James knew when the storm blew in. It was not the wind or the thunder than woke him, but the feeling of Elizabeth’s lithe young body siddling closer to his that called him up from the depths of sleep. “ _I’m cold_ ,” she whimpered, and without a word James lifted his arm, inviting her into the shelter of his broad chest. She curled up against him, enveloped by his arms and long torso. It seemed such a simple, logical thing to do, perfectly right in the sleep-fogged haze between waking and dreams.

 _How well they fit_ , he thought to himself before drifting back to sleep.

Next it was Elizabeth who woke, this time much later in the morning, the bright sun shining down. She felt warm and secure, with James folded around her, his long body molded against her back. One arm was tucked under her head, providing a surprisingly comfortable pillow, considering. The other was wrapped around her waist, and she realized with some shock that his _hand_ was cupped upon her _breast._

Even more shocking, she found that she didn’t mind in the least. It felt as though they were very well meant to fit this way, snug and secure against the world in each other’s arms. It did not feel _wrong_ at all.

Though, there was something rather firm poking at her bottom, and curiously she pressed herself against it a little, until with a shock she realized _exactly_ what part of James Norrington’s anatomy was so pleased by its current situation.

A lady would have been cross, but Elizabeth only felt _intrigue._

She might have even giggled a little.

Which naturally caused James to stir behind her.

When he realized where his hand had strayed in sleep James bolted upright, his emerald green eyes wide with horror. “Elizabeth! Oh, forgive me, I was asleep…which is no excuse. My God, I’m so sorry—”

He would have gone on in that vein for some time, Elizabeth reckoned, had she not interrupted. “It’s alright,” she said softly, shifting onto her back. She looked up at him with a rather bewitching smile, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I rather liked it, actually.”

She could have pushed James over with a feather in that moment, and his expression only caused her to giggle again. “Oh, you dear sweet man,” she teased, reaching up to caress his face. How had she never noticed the chiseled line of his jaw before? Or the patrician lines of his nose, which she rather liked immensely in that moment. He was so _handsome_ without that dreadful wig. The shadow of a beard had begun to sprout on his jaw, rough stubble rasping against her fingers. She drew him with her fingertips, but only when she touched his lips did James wake from the spell she cast upon him with her touch, grasping her hand gently in his.

“Elizabeth, I would _never_ seek to take advantage of you.”

“I know. Somehow, that only makes me want to take advantage of _you_ ,” she teased, her white teeth flashing in the morning sun. “I don’t think you would even mind.” Her eyes flicked down to his obvious arousal, which only served to make his cheeks burn scarlet _._

_Merciless chit._

James’ blood warmed at the thought, quite _without_ his permission, and his mind wandered to what exactly she might have meant by _that._

“We’re free here, you know,” she said gently. “There’s no one to tell us not to do exactly as we please. You’re used to being in charge, I suppose, but I’ve never been afforded such a luxury. It’s like we’re on holiday.”

James sighed heavily. “That doesn’t mean the consequences of what we do here won’t follow us back to the real world, Elizabeth. Freedom is always relative, no matter who you are or where you find yourself.” And before she could say it, he added, “ _Even_ if you’re a pirate.”

Elizabeth pouted, though laughter glittered in her dark eyes. “Well…I’m not a pirate, obviously. But maybe I would like to be your fiancée, James Norrington. I think a kiss would help me make up my mind.”

James closed his eyes, and for a moment appeared as though he was almost _in pain._ It certainly wasn’t the reaction Elizabeth expected, after inviting this man who claimed to love her, to kiss her. She had no way of knowing how James wrestled with himself, only narrowly resisting the urge to fall upon her like a lecherous cad with such sweet permission at hand.

He waited too long for her liking.

“Or _not_ , if the prospect is _that_ distasteful.”

“That’s not the problem, I assure you.”

“Then what?” The heat of impatience began to enter her tone, and James sighed. He didn’t wish to inspire her ire again, so soon, and over whether or not he wished to _kiss_ her was absurd!

“The problem is that if I kiss you, Miss Swann, I might not _stop_.” There was an edge in his voice Elizabeth had never heard before from James Norrington. It did indescribable things to her insides, and she found herself reaching for him again. Her mouth parted, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips.

That tiny gesture undid James entirely, like a lance slipped between the seam of his armor.

_Done for._

Slowly he leaned down, brushing her lips gently with his. He tried to be a gentleman. He tried to keep this as _innocent_ as circumstances would allow. She smiled against his mouth, and before he could draw back Elizabeth’s fingers slid into his hair, holding him to her as she deepened their kiss. It did not exactly shock him, though he did betray himself with a rather ragged sounding groan. Her nails upon his scalp sent a shiver down his spine, and tentatively her tongue touched his. His arms trembled from holding himself above her, when all he wanted to do was let his weight sink down upon her soft form.

Elizabeth was rather _good_ at kissing for an unmarried young lady, but then James supposed there were plenty of gentlemen who would have jumped at the chance to slip into the garden with her for a playful snog at a ball.

He found that he wanted every single one of their names so that he might demonstrate what a mistake it had been to touch his Elizabeth.

_His Elizabeth._

Now he really was letting it all run away from him.

With a gasp James drew back, finding a dewy eyed and plump-lipped siren upon her palette of palms beneath him. A knowing smile curled her lips— _where_ did a girl like her learn a look like _that_?

Perhaps some women were just born knowing. 

“Hmm. I think this is going to be a _splendid_ holiday, James.”

Without further ado she scooted out from underneath him, exiting the little hut to stretch and sigh at the lovely scenery around them. Though it had obviously rained, for the sand was wet and their basket was full of fresh water, there was not a cloud in the sky now. She adeptly picked up his cutlass and began to work on the top of a coconut.

James watched her go about these activities with eyes that burned green fire _,_ his every nerve aflame, and the hardest cockstand between his legs he’d _ever_ known. He sighed, plunking his head down onto the palette, rather wishing the sand would open up and swallow him. It was the only way this girl was going to make it off this island still a virgin.

“Breakfast?” she offered brightly with open coconut in hand, finding a miserable looking James still lounging under the roof he’d built.

_A splendid holiday indeed._


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Island life agrees with our maroons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah it feels like it's been forever since I've had a chance to sit down and write. This has been bouncing around inside my head for weeks and I thought I might go mad. I do not want to adult. I just want to write fic all day... The Gods are laughing. Ok, well, I hope you enjoy this smidgen, at any rate. :)

# II

 

She looked at him differently now.

James could tell. He watched her out the corner of his eye, as he always had in his attempts to not betray his _virulent_ desire for her. But she, brazen young thing that she was, quite openly appraised him, and for once James felt like he just might be up to snuff to her careful inspection.

It made no sense what-so-ever, of course. Here he was stuck on a desert island, miles away from a clean uniform or a razor or soap and a hot freshwater bath.

And yet, she stared, with a little knowing smile curling the corner of her mouth.

It was insanely gratifying.

As was the little game she began to play, something he quickly dubbed How Perfectly Can Elizabeth Swann Unsettle James, or The Kissing Game for short.

She was an ambush artist, he would hand her that. Planting little kisses on his cheek for tending the fire or shoring up the shelter, making it a _tad_ bigger as it was made clear he too would be expected to inhabit it. She was there and gone like a spectre, granting him a token of unsurpassed sweetness before disappearing down the beach again to find more ripe coconuts or look for crabs that had wandered up on the shore.

On the third day James finally managed to spear a fish, and received an enthusiastic full-on snog for his trouble, Elizabeth leaping upon him in her excitement.

He couldn’t resist her, of course, kissing her back greedily, even as he knew his lengthening stubble must have abraded her fair skin. 

Nor could he stop himself from wrapping an arm about her willowy waist and holding her near for just a moment longer.

She didn’t seem to mind.

 _He_ should have known better, but it was amazing how quickly the rules of society slipped away in a place like this.

James came to anticipate and dread bedding down to sleep. She insisted that he hold her, because she was cold or had nightmares and then no excuse at all except that she wanted him to. For the moment, she behaved herself, falling right asleep like a good girl. But James saw the telltale glint of curiosity in her shining mahogany eyes, and he wondered how long his luck would hold.

 

**XXX**

 

Five days was the answer to that.

On a dreadfully hot and uncharacteristically still day they took shelter from the sun beneath their thatch roof, practically panting like dogs for all the good it would do them. The baskets were running low of fresh water, and James prayed this was the calm before a storm.

“It’s so bloody hot,” Elizabeth moaned, holding her hair off her neck. Then she turned to him, a forbidden light in her eyes. “Let’s go for a swim, James.”

Immediately he blanched. As if it wasn’t enough torture to watch her flouncing about in her chemise already—the thin fabric was white and left _little_ to the imagination when wet. Just the thought of it was enough to inspire his internal barometer to rise.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Elizabeth.”

“I think it’s a _fantastic_ idea,” she countered, and as though that should be the end of the discussion, she began to scoot out from under the shelter. Only at the edge of the sand did she realize James wasn’t moving to follow her. “Come on,” she wheedled. “There’s no one here to see.”

“ _I_ am here to see,” he countered, winning nothing but the most wicked grin this impish girl could muster.

“Well, _that’s_ hardly the end of the world, is it?” she insisted.

“Elizabeth…”

She pouted, and though it was an expression he remembered well from when she was a knees-and-elbows sprite terrorizing his ship on the crossing, it certainly never had the effect it did on him _now_. Those pillowy lips pressed just so…God how he wanted to kiss her in that moment.

“Come play with me, James. We’re on holiday, remember?”

“I still cannot credit you consider being marooned on a desert isle a _holiday._ ”

“Of course it is,” she huffed, as though it should be obvious. “I’ve never been so _free_.”

James didn’t have the heart then to mention the other detractors of this little sojourn. That their water was running low, and the fishing was spotty at best, and eventually they would eat all the coconuts this tiny spit had to offer. If they weren’t rescued soon…there wouldn’t be much left of either of them to rescue.

 _She feels safe with you_ a voice inside reminded him. As unbelievable as it was, James reckoned he wouldn’t spoil it. He was used to carrying the burden of others safety on his shoulders, but it had never seemed so _dire_ as now, with _her_ as his charge.

“Please?” she asked again, tugging at his hand. Perhaps it was her touch that finally swayed him. Or possibly the call of the cool waves crashing on their shore. Or the thought of her gliding through the water like a mermaid around him…which was not a helpful image to fixate upon.

“Fine. Just a dip, to cool off,” he ceded, and let her drag him out of the shelter and down to the water line. She practically skipped into the waves, her delight a palpable thing in the air on that fine sunny day.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Elizabeth was an excellent swimmer. Better than any lady should be, but he knew she’d constantly sneaked off as a child to play on the beach. James stood in water up to his chest, content to bob in the waves, and damn if the water wasn’t a welcome relief from the incessant heat and the film of sweat that had formed on his skin. Elizabeth swam out farther, of course, and only turned back when he called out to her in warning, a cheeky grin in place as she coasted towards him on a wave. His heart pounded in his chest when she decided to use him as a piling, holding herself afloat with hands on his shoulders.

Tentatively his hands went to her waist, and he could hear his heartbeat as a drumroll in his ears. She took this as encouragement, siddling a little closer, tilting her face up to his. He knew very well what she wanted, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from giving it to her. Softly his lips brushed hers, and though he tried to keep this kiss a gentle expression of affection it soon spiraled into a toe-curling thing of passion, her tongue making war with his, his hand in her hair at the base of her skull, and one of her long legs dared to wrap around his waist.

They parted with a surprised gasp, and Elizabeth said nothing as she drew away, just smiled that bewitching sea-siren smile. She hummed a little tune as she made one last lap around him, his eyes too wide as he watched her, his breathing too fast—and then let the waves wash her back to shore.

James chose to stay in the water a little longer, a part of him standing rather embarrassingly at full attention after such a torrid lock of lips. It seemed best to give her dress a chance to dry a bit, for it was white and he would be able to see _right_ through it… A pained groan escaped him, and he sank even deeper into the water, pressing his eyes closed against the glimpse of her emerging from the waves with her shift clinging to her svelte form like a second skin.

She still had yet to accept his proposal, and in a way James was grateful for that last barrier between them. Without it, he wasn’t sure how he would keep himself from claiming her in the oldest way between man and woman.

 

**XXX**

 

Later that night she demolished that obstacle too, sitting next to him by the fire with her head sweetly resting upon his shoulder. She twined her long fingers with his and whispered in a voice so soft he almost did not hear, “I will marry you, James Norrington.”

Though it was meant as consent it almost sounded like a _challenge._

Despite that, James’ heart beat to quarters in his chest, and then lodged in the back of his throat, making speech annoyingly difficult as he turned to look down at her with wonder.

“Do you mean that, Elizabeth?”

Her smile did not contain the usual cheek, her pillow-soft lips curled gently at the corners. “Why else would I say it?” she inquired innocently.

“Elizabeth, this place…” Was wild, and brutal, and had done a number on them. The world seemed deceptively small, when you lived on an island that offered less square footage than the decks of the _Dauntless_. He could not help but think that she might feel differently about the two of them, together, once they had returned to civilization.

 _If they ever managed to return_ a little voice whispered at the back of his mind, but James pushed it away.

“This place is harsh, I know,” she finished for him, and though she was so very young, James was reminded for the umpteenth time that she was also scathingly bright. “It has made me dependent upon you in a way I wouldn’t have been before, and you fear that has influenced my answer. Which in a way is true, I suppose. This island has allowed me to see you in ways I never had the chance to, in Port Royal.” Her fingers traced the curve of his bicep and shoulder rather distractingly, her eyes following her touch. “You are capable and strong and a valiant protector,” she mused. “Which is well and good. But you are also kind and sweet and _funny,_ James. You make me laugh, and that is as delightful as it was unexpected.”

His brows shot sky high at the latter, and with a widened smile Elizabeth smoothed the crease in his brows with the blade of her thumb, laughing a little as though to illustrate her claim. “And, you are _quite_ handsome. That wig does your looks no service, if I may be so bold. I may ask you to grow this back for me from time to time,” she teased, caressing his bearded cheek.

Despite her claims, James couldn’t help but think he must resemble a fish, for the way his mouth hung open with surprise. His silence drew on for long enough that Elizabeth seemed to lose a bit of her confidence, the spark dimming in her eyes. “Of course, you know me better now as well. Perhaps marriage to me does not seem like such a covetable prospect any longer—”

Before she could go on James promptly tilted her face back up to his and kissed her deeply—in a way he _never_ would have dared, in their life in Port Royal. She moaned against him and it was heady and _maddening,_ this inexplicable knowledge that she seemed to want him _too._

He realized that he never really thought she would. His proposal had been a gambit; a thing bolstered by her father’s encouragement, but still a seemingly impossible prize to possess for himself. He’d thought it would take a miracle to win her—and so one had been delivered, somehow, in the form of pirates and desertion upon a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

When at last they separated with shaky breathing James rested his forehead against hers, his fingers tangled in her hair. “Yes, Elizabeth. I mean—no… What I _mean_ is that I sincerely want you to be my wife, even more so now that we have had this… _enlightening_ time together.”

Elizabeth paid him a shy smile. “I haven’t scared you off, then?”

A shaky laugh escaped James, and he could not stop himself from kissing her again. “Not by half, Miss Swann,” he assured her, and watched as her usual confidence returned.

“Well, in that case…” She boldly repositioned herself to sit in his lap, and where once he might have blanched at the prospect now he only pulled her closer, her fine-boned form folded into the shelter of his arms. “Please kiss me again, my darling fiancé?”

It was a request he was all too happy to fulfill.


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth reach a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating has changed to E. Ahem. ::Beyoncé dance:: I ain't sorry...

# III.

 

Though he was not exactly _surprised_ when James felt her inquisitive touch upon his chest, as they lay beneath their palm frond shelter late at night, he was certainly no better _prepared_ to resist her. Elizabeth was warm and soft in his arms, _so soft,_ and when those bee-stung lips pressed in a kiss upon his Adam’s apple James thought he might _die._

“ _Sweetheart_ …” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep. “ _You_ _shouldn’t_ … _I can’t_ …”

Resist.

His strength both physical and mental waned more with every hour, and now that she had agreed to _marry_ him…

Her lips found his, and he felt himself melting like butter left out in the blazing sun. He kissed her sweetly and thoroughly, his fingers tangled in her hair and her long legs twining with his. And just as he began to hope she might be content with just kissing, she went in for the kill.

“If I die here, James Norrington, I shall be _extremely_ cross to have never known your touch.” As though to demonstrate what exactly she meant by _his touch,_ she took his large hand and placed it upon her _bottom_ , pulling his hips against hers with one of her long legs in a way that tore a groan from deep in his throat. “ _Please_?”

James removed his hand to stroke her hair, pushing a stray lock from her face. Even in the darkness, when he could barely make out her lines, she took his breath away. “We are _not_ going to perish here,” he tried to soothe her, even if he wasn’t exactly sure it was true himself. As though to answer, his own stomach betrayed his assurance by issuing a loud grumble.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she said calmly. “I know what we’re up against.” Before he could insist that he would protect her, she added, “If we succumb it won’t be your fault, James. It’s all right.”

It wasn’t, however. In that moment he knew without a doubt that posed a Devil’s trade, he would have given his own life to _know_ that she would live. Reading the consternation upon his noble brow, Elizabeth kissed him there where that wrinkle of worry had a tendency to form. And then James felt even more wretched; he shouldn’t be the one who needed assuring. She was so _strong,_ was his Elizabeth. Any other woman he knew would have melted into hysterics by now, but she still treated all this as a happy diversion.

“ _Stop_ ,” she urged him. “Stop _worrying_. Just…be with me tonight? We’re on holiday, remember?”

James’ heart beat like a war drum, seemingly quite intent on pounding out of his chest. Here he was on a balmy tropical night, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon _in his arms_ , and _wanting_ him. But the very fact that she did seem so desperate told him that she was far more frightened than she let on, and sought distraction from her fear.

“Sweetheart, this is _not_ a holiday,” he insisted, smoothing her hair. It sounded weak even to him.

“When else could we ever have such freedom?” she protested. “Not even on our honeymoon, I would wager.” That was true, he supposed. The breeze coming off the water whispered through the palms above and over their skin; the waves crashed practically at their door. If ever there was a romantic setting to be had, this was it. “ _I want you, James_ ,” she goaded further. “I feel like…like a powder magazine in a burning ship when you touch me. Like I might explode, but I don’t know _how._ Show me?”

Something _painful_ clenched inside him at hearing that, and it was all he could do not to curse—or fall upon her in an amorous frenzy—or both. Canny young thing that she was, she could tell that a war waged within him. Elizabeth found that she hungered to conquer this man usually so very in control of himself and everything around him. She wanted to be the thing that undid Commodore James Norrington, and once she accomplished that momentous feat she knew he would be _hers_.

“Don’t you want me?” she goaded further, daring to run her delicate hand from his chest down his abdomen, boldly admiring his solid physique beneath her palm. James caught her wandering mitt just at his waist, however, a pained sigh escaping him.

“Of _course_ I want you, as I think you _well_ know.”

She grinned impishly, which somehow he found far more irresistible than if she had feigned total innocence.

“Then what is the harm? We are _engaged._ We will be married the moment we set foot back in Port Royal; Father will see to that.” She left off the other option. If they did _not_ make it back alive…then what did it matter anyway?

 _It did matter_ , James told himself. Even the voice in his head sounded as though it was losing its resolve.

When at last he found his voice again it came thick with desire, and he knew he was no better than a common cad. “I will make you a compromise,” he found himself saying, knowing he was opening a door to the Devil even as he did it.

“Oh?” Her eyes positively _shined_ , bright as the stars above, and it took his breath away. He kissed her. There was not a force in the world that could have stopped him from it. “I will show you what you want to know,” he rasped against her throat, and she arched so prettily beneath him he thought he might die of desire all over again.

“Yes?” she panted, her voice filled with anticipation.

“But _I_ am in command here,” he asserted, pinning her hands above her head with one of his own. He knew to the marrow of his bones that if he allowed her to touch him through this there would be no turning back; he would _break_. He was hard as a belaying pin and his cock strained almost _painfully_ against the fabric of his breeches.

“ _Oh.”_ She grinned wickedly, and he instantly he knew she rather approved of this development.

_Saucy girl._

“But if you want me to stop you have only to say,” he assured her, drawing back so that he could see her face. Elizabeth nodded, her lips parted wordlessly, and he took it as consent enough to kiss her neck and chest once more, the way she arched to meet him marking her eagerness for his touch. He could feel her nipples through the thin lawn of her chemise, hard pebbles that strained against their constraint in all her excitement. When he brushed one with his lips she released a ragged cry of surprise. But it was not _protest,_ and so he touched her further, taking the sensitive nub between his teeth gently, and then teasing her back and forth with his tongue.

“ _James_ ,” she sighed, practically squirming beneath him, and he moved to the other, paying it equally thorough attention. “You will drive me _mad,_ ” she murmured, her only indication of protest when he lifted his head from her. This was quelled as he pressed his lips to hers once more, kissing her deeply as he reached down to find the hem of her chemise, already ridden up high on her legs. His large hand found the firm curve of her shapely bare thigh, as he groaned into her mouth as his touch slid higher and higher.

Elizabeth’s hips left the ground as she strained forward, eager for his hand _there._ But he bypassed this direct route, choosing to stroke the soft flesh of her belly, her skin skittering beneath his fingers. _She was ticklish._ This was all too endearing to bear. James had never been with a woman who was a virgin before, truth be told. All his affairs had been conducted with women in society who knew _very much_ what they were about. More than him, often enough. Elizabeth’s innocent eagerness to experience these new sensations was an aphrodisiac of a potency James _never_ could have fathomed before, and it was some small wonder he did not spend just from _watching_ her.

His hand began a slow journey down again, and Elizabeth seemed to hold her breath, daring not to make demands as she wanted him to continue _so very badly._ She could not recall ever wanting _anything_ so much in her life, as she wanted James to touch her _there_. Her fingers twined with his above her head, squeezing _hard_ in her anticipation. She quivered as the tips of his fingers stroked her inner thigh, her lips a fraction from his.

When at last he took mercy upon her, caressing the petals of her flower she made a sound like a sob, her mouth desperately seeking his. He found the pearl of her sex and rubbed her in maddeningly slow circles, and her hips began to move of their own accord in the rhythm she needed. His hand moved faster and faster, her body taut as a nocked arrow ready to fire, until finally she broke away from his kiss with a ragged cry, burying her face in the bend of his neck as she trembled beneath him. Gently he teased her through the aftershocks until she begged him, “No more, I can’t… _oh James.”_

He smiled then. He beamed like fool, looking down upon her dewy with a fine sheen of sweat and thoroughly rumpled, her burnished gold hair curling about her shoulders. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he told her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“And you are…” For once, she seemed at a loss for words, and she laughed. It was a sound filled with pure joy, and James thought his heart might burst with love for this woman. “You are _magnificent_ ,” she finally finished, kissing his cheek. Feeling the hard appendage pressed against her hip, she added, “And I think you are a bit pent up yourself.”

It was the understatement of the century.

But when she reached for the placket of his breeches he caught her hand. “No, Elizabeth. Tonight was for _you_.”

“But…”

“Ah ah, what was our agreement?”

She shot him a mutinous look; now that she’d had what she wanted it no doubt rubbed her to admit that he was to be obeyed according to their deal. However, James knew that if he gave in even a _little_ that he would not stop. It would be the end of his self-control, and she would not make it back to Port Royal a virgin. Before she could needle him again he turned her in his arms, spooning his long body against hers. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her hair. “It won’t be hard now, I promise you.”

In one last act of defiance she pressed her bottom against his erection, tearing an unexpected grunt of desire from his lips. “Indeed? You could have fooled me.”

He growled in response, and with a sigh she settled down, pulling his arm around her and lacing her fingers with his. “Obstinate man.”

He kissed the back of her neck. “Just wait until we’re married. There will be no help for you then.”

Sleepily she chuckled. “You neither, James Norrington,” she threatened, and he grinned into her hair. He felt her finally relax in his arms, her breathing steadying, signaling that she was at last asleep. Despite his rampant arousal, James was tired enough that in what felt like no time at all, he joined her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments are always welcome! They make me very happy! :)


	4. IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth decides its her turn to take command.

# IV.

 

They woke to the sound of rain, and both maroons laughed with pure joy that they would be spared another few days upon this desert spit. “Thank God,” sighed James emphatically, rocking his head back onto their palm mattress with relief. For the strength of this reaction Elizabeth viewed for the first time how very worried he truly had been. She kissed him sweetly upon the lips, earning a small moan of approval before she quit the shelter to stand out in the deluge, intent on washing off as much grime and salt as she could. It was no hot bath, but under the circumstances the storm answered nicely.

“Come join me!” she called, holding out her hands to James, who could not tear his eyes from her now sodding wet form. For a few moments he resisted, the usual protests perched upon the tip of his tongue. But somehow, this fine rain-soaked morning, they did not carry their usual weight. James scooted out from under the shelter and took Elizabeth’s hand. They stood together under the cool rain, mouths open to the sky, hungry for this manna from heaven. They grinned like fools and when Elizabeth craned her neck to James he could not resist kissing her deeply, cradling her face in his hands.

When the baskets filled they drank their fill, and then returned them to be filled again by the over-pour from the roof.

The storm broke in the afternoon, dark clouds scudding away to reveal the crystal blue sky once more. Elizabeth went to stand out in the sunshine, hoping to dry her dress. She stood with her arms spread like spars, catching the breeze.

“Your shirt would dry faster if you removed it,” she told him cheekily, winning narrowed green eyes but a small smile that betrayed him.

“Still after my virtue, I see,” he teased her, winning an even wider grin.

“I simply know that my fiancé is tall and handsome and exceedingly well built…can you fault me for wanting to peek?”

Her opinion of his physical appearance did not fail to inspire warmth to bloom in his belly. Though James was not particularly _vain,_ it did something to his insides to know she found his form pleasing.

“You are kind, my love.”

She placed hands on her hips, fixing him with a knowing stare. “But extremely too forward, I take it?”

He could hear the note of hurt under her teasing, and more than anything he wanted to chase that away.

“Not necessarily.” He joined her in the sun, his sodden shirt clinging to his skin. Immediately she reached for him, open palms upon his chest and ribcage, tearing forth a ragged sigh. “You will drive me to distraction,” he ground out, utterly unable to resist kissing her.

“You will catch cold,” she returned, grasping the hem of his shirt and drawing it upwards.

“Somehow I doubt that.” But he let her draw the garment up over his head, standing on tiptoe to do so. With her lower lip clasped endearingly between her teeth, Elizabeth appraised what she had won, his shirt forgotten in her clasped hands. All the layers of his uniform hid _so_ much—toned muscles and _scars_ both hard won by a life of fighting at sea _._ She seemed pleased with her prize indeed.

But when she reached for him again James caught her hands, holding them against his heart. “I will go try to catch us another fish, hmm?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” As though to chime in, her stomach chose that moment to growl. With a kiss upon her forehead James took up his makeshift spear and went off to the spot on the beach where he’d had the most luck. She watched him go with a lightness in her heart, the sight of his bare back most distracting indeed. Only when he disappeared around the curve of the beach did she wake from the spell the sight of him cast upon her, and with a little laugh at herself she went about hanging up his shirt to dry on the edge of their shelter. There was a delicious ache in her chest, her heart so full she thought it might burst.

Determined to also prove industrious, Elizabeth went to gather some coconuts.

 

**XXX**

 

Fishing in this way was an infuriating endeavor, but after patiently standing still in water up to his thighs under the harsh sun, James was able to make good on his endeavor. This fish wasn’t nearly as large as the last one, but it was food and it would do better than nothing. Just as he turned to retreat back to camp he heard a scream that made his heart fall to his feet with dread.

“Elizabeth?” he called, immediately running in the direction of her cry. “Elizabeth!”

“Down here.”

Thankfully she did not sound hurt. In fact, she sounded as though she was _laughing._

James found her in the bottom of a _pit,_ of all things, surrounded by dusty bottles of an amber colored liquid. “Are you alright?” he called down, and she grinned back up at him.

“Quite. I believe I stumbled into someone’s stash of rum.”

Rum runners had frequented these parts once, until James and his Navy ships chased them out. Though they were decidedly less harmful to commerce than _pirates_ they still dodged taxes to the King and undercut honest merchants in this way.

James crouched at the edge of the pit, extending a hand down to her. But rather than give him her hand, she passed up a bottle of rum. James could not quell his disapproving look, to which she simply grinned. “Bottoms up, darling.” The only time she’d been able to imbibe in spirits was when she sneaked her father’s brandy; otherwise she was only allowed wine.

“Elizabeth…”

“ _Holiday_ …” she answered in a singsong voice, and his forbidding expression cracked into a reluctant smile.

“You are simply a marvel, Miss Swann,” he voiced, but took the bottle, and then her hand, pulling her out of the hole. Somehow he feared he’d not even seen the half of it yet.

 

**XXX**

 

In her defence, she did not drink _much_ of the rum. But then, slight as she was, and inexperienced to boot, it did not _take_ much either, and soon after the sun set she was amusing herself by singing songs and dancing around the fire.

He too had had a few swallows of the stuff, and though it was not the _worst_ cane swill it was not exactly fine either. The fish had been consumed in its entirety, and at least there was plenty of water at the moment, James reasoned. She would wake with a Devil of a hangover and never want to touch the stuff again.

“Come dance with me, James,” she urged, holding out her hands to him in invitation. “Can’t you hear?” She put a hand to her ear, listening to a make believe orchestra. “Tis a gavotte, which has always been my favorite to dance with you.” Her feet began to move in the spritely dance, such a carefree smile plastered upon her face. _She was so beautiful,_ he thought, for the _umpteenth_ time of his life.

Reluctantly James rose from his seat by the fire. “You should conserve some of this energy, you know.”

“Ah, I can’t possibly hold it all in!” she exclaimed to the contrary. “Tis _too_ much to bear! Come here, darling, come here.”

Helpless to her commands, her smile, and that glitter in her dark eyes, James took her hands and led her in the dance to music only they could hear. Perhaps the rum was headier than he thought; or perhaps he was simply drunk on _her._ Either way, the world burned _bright,_ and in those precious few moments he forgot all about their dire situation here, simply happy to have this time with this beautiful woman in his arms.

_His fiancée._

He could still hardly believe it was true.

They danced and danced, the world edged with gold, and when the fire burned low and it was finally time to repair to their shelter James thought maybe, _just maybe,_ she would have exhausted herself enough to fall right into sleep. But when she straddled his waist with an impish smirk he knew all his hopes were for naught. “Here now, James Norrington. I believe tonight tis _my_ turn to assume command.”

Before he could protest she deftly captured his wrists and pressed them over his head, her mouth finding his in a sultry kiss that melted him to the tips of his toes. And though there was not a scenario in the world in which Elizabeth could have outmuscled him, James felt _utterly_ her captive all the same. A pained groan escaped him as her hands trailed down the length of his muscular arms to his chest, and a rolling motion of her hips discovered that certain parts of him found this arrangement _highly_ agreeable. He could _feel_ her smile as she ducked down to kiss his neck, her rain-curled hair soft against his cheek.

“Elizabeth…” He’d meant it to sound as an admonishment, but it came out more like plea.

“Take this off again,” she ordered, pulling up his shirt to reveal a pale stretch of his belly dusted with crisp dark hairs. She seemed fascinated by this bared strip of skin, her lip caught in her teeth as she regarded him, the way a wolf looks upon a lamb.

“We shouldn’t—”

“ _Off_.”

He found himself obeying her, even as a tiny voice in the back of his head sang out that this was a very bad idea indeed. Somehow, the rum had diminished his ability to give credence to this voice. In fact, with this nubile young woman _in his lap_ he rather wanted to tell that voice of reason to bugger off, indefinitely.

She made a small sound in her throat as she regarded his now bare torso, fingers rising to trace the ridged tissue of an old scar. “You’re beautiful, James,” she said softly, and he felt his resolve melt even further.

“Isn’t that my line?” he teased, sliding his fingers into her hair and drawing her into a deep kiss that rendered her soft and pliant against him. His kisses wandered down the line of her jaw, to her throat. She smelled like rain and sweat and _his woman_ and his mind utterly fogged with desire for her.

“I want…” She paused, distracted as he tilted her back in his arms, so that he might reach her chest with his mouth. “To do to you, what you did to me, last night.” James groaned, utterly unable to fathom how he might resist her when she said it like _that._

“ _I_ want to do to _you_ what I did last night,” he answered, flipping her in his arms so that she lay on her back below him. “Only, like _this_.” He kissed her again, and felt any resistance she might have raised leak from her bones, her hands exploring the play of muscles in his back.

“Like _what_?” she asked, not understanding as he descended to her throat again.

“You’ll see.” She made a small sound that might have been indicative of displeasure, until he nudged aside her neckline to take her pretty little breast into his mouth.

“ _James,”_ she purred and the sound of her saying his name _like that—_ it was simply _unfair,_ what that did to a man. He reached for her hem, and this time she helped him, eager to bare herself. In that moment, she feared _nothing,_ it seemed _._ He watched with a moment of shock, in fact, as she drew her whole chemise over her head, tossing it impatiently to the side. For a moment he stared, _utterly dumbstruck._ Not that she would be so bold—no, that was no surprise. But that she was so _bloody perfect._

“You are not a woman,” he declared, kissing her again. “You are a _goddess,_ ” and somehow I cannot _fathom_ how you are dallying here with _me._ ”

She laughed as he made his way down her body once more. “What rubbish,” she sighed as he kissed her belly, her fingers tangling in his hair. “There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be, than here with you.” In that moment he believed her, and she watched with wide dark eyes as he nestled himself between her legs, her thighs upon his shoulders. Though he could see the question in her gaze, it died as he pressed his lips to her center, her head rocking back for the delicious pleasure that rushed up her spine. There were no more words as James kissed and licked her most sensitive area, until she arched like a bow and cried his name into the night, trembling with the aftershocks of her pleasure.

When he rose she pulled him eagerly back into her arms, her lips hungry for his, his body pressed against hers. “Now you,” she insisted, reaching for the placket of his breeches.

“I do not require you to…” he sighed against her neck, which was a decidedly weaker defence than the night’s previous.

“But I _want_ to,” she insisted, so intrigued by the bulge that pressed against her hand. “ _Show me how.”_ He groaned as she wrested the last button free, and his manhood sprang forth into her hand. She gasped, taken by its velvet soft sheathing upon an appendage so _impossibly_ hard. She squeezed him gently, winning yet another sound from deep in his throat that betrayed his enjoyment.

He should have said no.

He should have put an end to this.

He _should have insisted_ that she put back on her chemise, and they go to sleep.

“Like this,” he found himself saying in a husky voice he hardly recognized as his own, his hand covering hers, leading her to stroke him up and down. It felt _so good,_ and James buried his face in the bend of her neck, moaning as she did it again with slightly more pressure. She was a quick study, was his Elizabeth. Mightily intrigued by this, taken by the sweetness and the _power,_ Elizabeth continued to touch him, following his lead when he bid her _a little faster, a little harder._

He gasped when suddenly she stopped, taking her hand away just as he was about to spend. “Lay back,” she commanded, and when the dumbfounded Commodore seemed incapable of comprehending her order she gently pushed him, until he lay upon his back on their palette of palms. As she straddled his legs he finally understood what she meant to do, and damn him for a cad but he could not bring himself to stop her. He simply did not possess the will, and when her lips closed upon his cock he let out an oath, the sweetness of this pleasure disarming him _entirely._

She smiled, the imp. He felt it against his sensitive tip, but before he could comment, as if he would have, she took him as far as she could into her mouth and James simply could think no more. Gently as he could, he led her rhythm with fingers behind her ear, and in what felt like no time at all he knew he would spend. “Sweetheart, that’s enough,” he urged her, trying to pull her up. “Move.”

Defiant to the end, instead Elizabeth took him deeper into her mouth, and he could not stop himself from spilling his seed down her throat, his hands convulsing in her hair as a blinding pleasure ripped through him. “ _Elizabeth,”_ he groaned, her name on his lips like a prayer.

When at last he quieted she sat up, coughing a little into her hand but seeming quite pleased with herself, wiping a bit of moisture away from her lip. Seeing him like this took her breath away; she had wanted to conquer him, but had not reckoned it would feel like _this._ Something fierce coiled and flexed inside her; something that felt as if it was made of _pure_ _lightning_ and that might kill her if she did not let it out somehow.

“ _I love you_ ,” she whispered above his lips, and for a moment James’ eyes shot wide open, before sliding closed once more, lulled by her kiss and her heartfelt admission.

“I am the luckiest of men,” he told her, his voice still shaky from pleasure and… _She loved him._

She _loved_ him.

James suddenly pulled her close, bundling her in his arms and kissing her hair, her eyes, her mouth again. Somehow, he could not regret what they had done that night, and all the rules be damned. Elizabeth played by her own set of guidelines, and he was beginning to think he _by far_ preferred her way.

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth woke with a splitting headache to a _boom, crackle,_ and _crash_ coming from somewhere nearby. She shot up, looking around. James was gone, and…the island was on fire? Quickly she donned her chemise and ran out, groaning in pain as the bright sunlight assaulted her aching skull like a blow from a hammer.

There was James, over by the rum cache, throwing on everything within reach it seemed. Old palm fronds, green palm fronds, and of course, the rum.

He was burning the rum!

“What are you doing?” she demanded, stumbling as she tried to make her way quickly in the sand.

James paused to turn towards her, sweating from the immense heat put off by the fire. “Smoke signal,” he told her, pointing to the gray column that billowed up into the sky. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. If anyone is still looking for us, they could not miss this.”

Elizabeth looked between him and the massive fire.

“But…the rum!”

James raised an eyebrow, clearly not mourning its demise.

There was another explosion, and Elizabeth ducked, James moving to cover her smaller form with his. “Go back to the shelter, sweetheart. Drink some water.” He kissed her forehead, for it was apparent she was in pain. “If there was ever any hope for us, this will see it through. I promise you.”

With a small frown Elizabeth did as she was told. She needed to lay back down and close her eyes; her head felt as though someone was driving a nail behind her eye, and she felt queasy too.

Perhaps rum was a vile drink after all.

 

**XXX**

 

At noon the next day sails appeared on the horizon, and James and Elizabeth watched its approach with hands clasped, squinting against the glare on the azure waters. In time a triumphant smile spread upon the Commodore’s lips. It was a friendly vessel, he was sure of it, certain he could make out the British colors waving proudly in the wind.

Hours later, _The Dauntless_ lowered anchor in the deep water off the island. James and Elizabeth watched her progress, somehow calm now that rescue was in sight. Though he always had a certain weakness for the ship, it had _never_ seemed so fine a vessel as in that moment to the Commodore.

Theo Groves and a party of marines came ashore in a launch, the Lieutenant smiling wide for the sight of the maroons, bedraggled as they were. “Thank _God,_ ” he exclaimed, adding, “ _Sir_ ,” as an afterthought. When he realized that Miss Swann was dressed in naught but her chemise he did his best to look anywhere _but_ her svelte form, but it was damnably hard. The glare James shot him made it slightly easier.

Theo relinquished his blue broadcloth coat, and though wool was actually the last thing Elizabeth wished to wear in this heat, she knew he meant well and accepted it gratefully. Back to society they would go, and all the rules with it. No more gallivanting scantily clad under the sun with the breeze on their skin. No more swimming to cut the heat of the middle of the day. And no more midnight trysts until they were safely married. Wistfully, she looked back over her shoulder at the little spit that nearly killed them. As though he understood her thoughts, James paid her a weak smile.

A bosun’s chair was rigged for Elizabeth, and the men climbed aboard. James helped her dismount from the contraption, a rather amusing way to board a ship truth be told. She stumbled, and James was quick to catch her, an arm looped easily about her waist. The feeling of his arms around her felt like _home,_ and without a second thought Elizabeth craned her neck in her way of requesting a kiss.

Still lost to the ways of their little island, without a thought James ducked his head to answer, and with his lips on hers it seemed a hush fell over the entire ship for a long moment.

There was a clearing of a throat, and James looked up to see none other than Governor Weatherby Swann was there, seeming torn between utter happiness and an apoplexy. “Ahem—does this mean you have accepted the Commodore’s proposal, Elizabeth?”

James felt himself turn beet red, and it could not be blamed on the Caribbean heat.

Elizabeth, however, did not miss a beat, sliding her arms around James’ trim waist. “In fact it does, Father. I do hope we will receive your congratulations.”

Weatherby’s face lit up, seemingly more pleased about _this_ news than actually finding Elizabeth alive and in one piece. “Indeed, that is _splendid_ news!”

Elizabeth felt James’ chuckle with her arms about his torso more than heard it, a small smile curling his lips.

The bustle upon the great vessel resumed, Theo Groves barking orders to get her under way. James let him remain in command—he was not in a hurry to jump back into it, truth be told.

“Perhaps we might arrange a meal in the great cabin? Some fresh water too would not go amiss,” James suggested, so hungry that even salt beef sounded marvelous, and certain Elizabeth felt the same.

“Of course, sir.” Groves ordered the steward to get it under way, and on tired legs but with full hearts, the couple made their way towards James’ day cabin. Elizabeth paused before going below decks, taking one last look at the island that was nearly their end.

“I can’t say I regret a thing,” she confessed quietly, for James’ ears only.

“Nor I,” he agreed, stealing another kiss behind Weatherby’s back, winning a small giggle, her heart filled to bursting with love and joy. “Though I am glad to be going home.”

“Indeed, my darling fiancé. I hope we can be married as soon as we arrive in Port Royal.”

This won her an endearing smile, and another illicit peck of lips, so sweet her heart _ached_. “That makes two of us, my love.”

 _The Dauntless_ caught the wind, and the great fighting ship got underway, homeward bound with the sun dipping on the horizon.

 

# THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this to the end, and of course your comments never fail to make my day!


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